


An Emergency

by totalizzyness



Series: Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totalizzyness/pseuds/totalizzyness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, an unusual crime scene is not at the forefront of Sherlock's mind; Lestrade is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Emergency

**Author's Note:**

> So I got this little thing in my head and had to write it. It's a little rushed and slap-dash, and the characterisation is probably a little (or a lot) wrong, but I find the only way to get a grip on new characters is to just keep writing and writing. So, please bear with me...
> 
> Un-beta'd.

Sherlock wasn't feeling nervous at all, he was Sherlock Holmes, he didn't get nervous; he was in control of his emotions at all times. But if repeatedly running his hands through his untamed curls meant he was nervous then... well maybe he was a little nervous. He wasn't sure if he should do something with his hair; it was pretty uncontrollable at the best of times, and running a comb through it didn't help much...  
  
Giving up on his hair problem, Sherlock snatched his tie from the back of his chair, draping it around his neck, glaring at his reflection as his fingers tied the knot. If all went well he wouldn't have to hang himself with it later. He was definitely hoping it wouldn't come to that. He should probably put his pants on, though.  
  
For once Sherlock wished he had Mycroft there to baby him, to order him about because he was in no fit state. He only had one job: get dressed and turn up, but even then he was struggling.  
  
His phone ringing on the table was a welcome distraction; he dived at his phone, reading the caller ID before answering. "Lestrade?"  
  
"Sherlock, we've got an interesting one."  
  
Sherlock frowned; of all days for a possibly decent case to turn up. "I'm not sure I can."  
  
"What? Come on, you never turn down interesting ones, and I promise you it's interesting. We have absolutely no leads, we need you! ...Anderson's here for you to belittle."  
  
Sherlock heard an indignant "hey!" on Lestrade's end. He sighed loudly checking his watch. "I can give you twenty minutes of my time and that is it."  
  
"Fine... What's happening, anyway?"  
  
"None of your concern, I'll be there as soon as possible."  
  
Not waiting for a reply, Sherlock hung up and finished getting ready, putting on his braces and suit jacket -- his smart one -- before slipping on his shoes, coat, and scarf and flying out of the building, hailing down a cab. With an extra tenner's incentive, the cabbie got him to the location in record speed, Sherlock rushing out to find Lestrade.  
  
The case was interesting; middle-aged woman, dead in her bathtub, dirt under the fingernails of one hand, a fingernail from her other hand lodged in her forehead, an imprint of something on her left foot and four feathers from three different birds in her hair. After analysing the scene and insulting Anderson, Sherlock began losing track of time. He paced back and forth in the bathroom, picking up random items and sniffing them, rushing through to the bedroom to find any more potential evidence. Lestrade watched him intently, waiting for him to burst any second with the answer.  
  
"Seems the freak is stumped," Sally sneered, folding her arms over her chest. Sherlock ignored her, like he always did, focusing on possible theories. His phone going off in his pocket interrupted his thought process. Letting out a gruff sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket.  
  
" **I do hope you're on your way - MH** "  
  
Sherlock slumped and checked his watch, deciding to allow himself five more minutes. He turned to Lestrade, slipping off his scarf and thrusting it into the DI's hands. "I need to leave in five minutes. Leave me alone with the body, get Anderson as far away as possible."  
  
"Why, what's going on, Sherlock? Are you wearing a tie?!"  
  
"Just go!"  
  
Lestrade did as instructed, ushering everybody out, shooting the consulting detective a concerned glance. Sherlock stood in the bathroom, his eyes taking everything in, his mind working a mile a minute to come up with some clue. Solving the mystery of the dirt and feathers made sense but what was the imprint? Explaining the nail in the forehead eliminated his bird theory. He needed more time.  
  
His phone went off again, erasing any possible leads he had.  
  
" **Don't do this. Must I send someone after you? - MH** "  
  
Letting out a loud sigh, Sherlock gave the body one last look before fleeing the building, hurrying to where Lestrade was chatting to Donovan. He snatched his scarf back and wrapped it around his neck, ignoring Donovan's scathing looks.  
  
"Any theories?"  
  
"None. You need to drive me to the Crowne Plaza!"  
  
Donovan snorted. "Of course not! He's got a job to do!"  
  
Sherlock sneered at Donovan, turning back to Lestrade, grabbing the lapels of his jacket. "Please. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate."  
  
Lestrade stared at Sherlock with concerned wide eyes. "Okay? But what's happening?"  
  
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Please, hurry."  
  
Lestrade shrugged and climbed into his car, Sherlock climbing into the passenger seat.  
  
"If you used the sirens, I'd be eternally grateful."  
  
"Sirens are only for emergencies."  
  
"This is an emergency!"  
  
Sighing, Lestrade flipped on the sirens, driving as quick as he felt necessary. Obviously Sherlock was worked up about something, and he was dressed up; family function? Funeral? The Sherlock he knew wouldn't put off an interesting case for anything. Cars parted on the roads as he gunned it across London; he could see Sherlock getting more and more tetchy as time went by, seething when cars were slow getting out of the way.  
  
Eventually he pulled up outside the hotel, Sherlock mumbling a quick thank you before diving out into oncoming traffic, too wound up to consider he could easily have been run over. Lestrade struggled to rush out of the car himself, rushing after Sherlock, throwing the keys to a confused valet. Sherlock hurried through the lobby, only stopping to ask directions to the ballroom. Lestrade followed himself into the grand room, shocked to see rows of people dressed smartly. He recognised Sherlock's brother stood at the front, an unamused look on his face as he tapped his watch and shook his head. Lestrade figured it was a wedding, but whose?  
  
Sherlock shoved him down into a chair, stripping his coat and scarf, dumping them in his lap before brushing himself down. "Do I look okay?"  
  
Lestrade gaped at Sherlock's fine clothing, nodding. Sherlock shot him a tiny smirk before hurrying to the front, scowling when Mycroft slapped the back of his head and straightened his tie. Lestrade tried to figure out whose wedding it was; it could have been Mycroft's, he seemed adequately annoyed by Sherlock's tardiness.  
  
A man dressed just as smartly as Sherlock and his brother emerged from a side door, calling the congregation to order. "Could everyone please rise for Captain John Watson."  
  
Lestrade quickly dumped Sherlock's things on the empty chair next to him and stood up, looking to the entrance where a man in military dress had appeared, accompanied by a larger man. A gay wedding, Lestrade deduced, still confused over the other possible groom. The mystery was quickly solved when he looked back to the front and saw the look of complete adoration on Sherlock's face. His mind began short-circuiting, wondering how Sherlock had kept this under wraps; he had no idea Sherlock was gay, let alone engaged to be wed any minute. As well as being confused by the circumstances he found himself in, Lestrade was hurt Sherlock hadn't told him, hadn't actually invited him to the ceremony. There weren't many people there at all, but Lestrade definitely would have accepted, he'd definitely have gotten a bit dressed up.  
  
He watched, still in disbelief as Sherlock took the man's hands, smiling at him. He never thought he'd see the day Sherlock pledge his undying love for anyone, but Sherlock loved to make him look like an idiot. As the vows were being made, he finally found it in himself to be happy for the couple; Sherlock deserved happiness as much as anyone else, he'd just like to meet the mad bloke who was crazy enough to marry _Sherlock Holmes_.  
  
He got his opportunity eventually. Most of the guests had dispersed to the bar, waiting for the ballroom to be transformed for dinner. Sherlock dragged his new husband over to Lestrade, taking back his coat and scarf.  
  
"So this was your emergency?"  
  
Sherlock gave him a wry smile, motioning between the two unacquainted men. "John Watson, Lestrade. Lestrade, this is John... My husband."  
  
John chuckled, holding out his hand for Lestrade. "Great to meet you at last, Sherlock talks about you... sometimes."  
  
"None of it good, I'm assuming?"  
  
"He never speaks highly of anyone."  
  
"Well at least he spoke of me. This was all a... surprise! I didn't know he dated."  
  
John smirked over at Sherlock who had begun to wander off. "He doesn't talk much about himself really. Properly. And I've only recently returned from Afghanistan, so..."  
  
"Makes sense, I suppose... So... how long have you and he... been..."  
  
"About a year. It was a very whirlwind romance but... he's the one."  
  
"Really? Sherlock Holmes?"  
  
"Yes, I know he's a bit... well... But I wouldn't change him. Everything people usually hate about him, I... don't."  
  
"Well, I suppose there has to be someone in the world who can stand to be in the same room as him for long periods of time. I thought I was the only one for a while."  
  
"He's an acquired taste. You also have to be a little clinically insane, that helps too."  
  
Lestrade laughed, giving John a playful punch to the arm. "I like you, John. I hope to see you around."  
  
John grinned. "Likewise, Lestrade."  
  
"Please, it's Greg... Not that Sherlock would know."  
  
"Speaking of, where's he wandered off to?"


End file.
